Loving a Prophet
by blushed-at-a-mere-nothing
Summary: One-Shot based on the poem Lessons on Loving a Prophet by Jeanann Verlee. I don't own Les Mis or LOLAP. Rated T to be safe. Set in Eponine's POV


_**One.**_

I knew. I knew how this was going to be. I made peace, I agreed, I complied, and I straightened my spine. I decided I didn't care. I was going to be loved.

"Enjolras? That's a peculiar name," I sighed, somewhat confused. "What is he like?"

"Well, Éponine, he is a prophet. He loves no one and helps all. He is handsome to the women and an object of jealousy to the men. He is our marble lover of liberty. Patria is his mistress." Courfeyrac spoke of his leader like he was a disciple. We sat at the café, saddened. Courfeyrac told me of an upcoming revolution, and there was no way to get out of it.

"When may I meet him?" I wondered aloud as he lit his cigarette.

"When you wish to. Wait around, leave, whatever. He will come to meet you eventually." Nodding, I left the café. I was bored and I wanted to meet the prophet.

* * *

_**Two.**_

I strolled about the marketplace, gazing at the ripe fruits and spring vegetables. The fabrics, the breads, the jewelry, the people, the spices all mixed together in a lovely flurry of gathered friends. Women gossiped, men smoked together as their girls shopped, children raced about playing rule-less games.

I was the odd one out- the poor gamine in the group of bourgeoisie. Women clutched their purses and the men kept their hands in their pockets until they got far enough from me. Typical, I muttered to myself as I viewed this.

A gentleman was at one kiosque purchasing a loaf of bread, and I was somewhat...confused. He seemed like Courfeyrac's description.

"Merci," he said and left with the bread in his bag. I could not stop my legs; I followed him. Every detail about him seemed to be too statuesque. His eyes, lips, and nose were sculpted with the precision of a master. His gold hair was like a lion's mane, but regardless, he made it appear intentional.

"What do you want?" I snapped out of my reverie to realize that he had stopped and I had walked straight into his back.

"Oh! N-Nothing, m'sieur. Only an answer- you are Enjolras? Courfeyrac's friend?"

He nodded. "Who are you? What do you know of Courfeyrac?"

"Éponine Thernardier. Courfeyrac is a friend of mine." I blushed slightly, though I doubted he saw beneath the thin layer of dirt on my cheeks.

"A pleasure, miss." He was cold. Like his structure, his emotions were rock as well.

"Naw, pleasure's mine!" I held out my hand to shake, and he took it kindly. His eyes were an intense blue, and they never left my muddy brown eyes. He was tall and smart and I took liking to him. He was everything that Courfeyrac said.

"Are you coming to the meeting?" I raised my eyebrows at his question. "L'Amis de'lABC?"

"What is it?"

"Politics. Revolution and politics."

"Ohhh!" I grinned in understanding. "The revolution Courfeyrac spoke of! Sure, I'll go. If you'll let a femme like me in, of course."

Enjolras nodded. "Feel free. Come with me if you wish, I was headed that way."

I nodded and followed close so as to not get lost. We passed each shop and kiosque on our way back, and I wished I had the money to be around them. I was pegged as a thief, so I wasn't allowed near them. Enjolras looked down and saw as I glared jealously at them. He ignored it and continued on his way.

* * *

_**Three.**_

At the café, we had been finished with the meeting for hours, and Enjolras and I were left alone. He just continued to read, and I sat at the little piano in the corner, plinking the notes randomly.

"Must you?" He asked without looking up. I took my hands away and sighed. The men of the ABC all welcomed me, yet Enjolras was still cold.

I stood and spun around one of the chairs, bored, but not wanting to leave. I was intrigued by a particular piece of stone furniture that was sitting in the corner, hunched over a book on the American war of Independence.

He looked up. "Quite graceful," he noted.

I grinned and curtsied. He smirked and pushed the little piano around so he could face me. He played, and spoke, "Will you dance?"

"Why?" I inquired, raising my eyebrows teasingly.

"Because I wish to see a gypsy dance. You seem quite graceful. I haven't seen anything happy in quite some time. You don't have to...though it would be interesting." His eyes danced all by themselves in amusement.

"Can you play? I don't dance without music."

He nodded and played a light melody. His eyes went back and forth from me to the keys, and then they just stayed on my body. I danced like I used to when I was with a street performer, and he kept his eyes up.

I danced with grace. The only thing I made beautiful was this dance. I wanted to be good for him.

When the song stopped, Enjolras sighed.

"Éponine..."

My eyes widened as I stood there. Enjolras's demeanor had flipped sides. He wasn't very marble. He just SIGHED.

He cleared his throat, pushed the piano back, and sat down at his spot. I could see him trying to calculate something; his brow was furrowed and he stared down at the book intently.

"Well?" I asked intently.

"Thank you. You were lovely."

I nodded and turned to leave, and he used my name like a chain.

"Éponine." He chuckled, and my heart beat fast. I left.

* * *

_**Four.**_

Months passed with no revolt. Enjolras was marble to all, and softer to me. After meetings, we spoke till late without really caring. We stayed up for each other. Our friendship seemed more real than his friendship with his men. He would not smile at me with others around, but once the room was empty, he almost could not put away his grin. I have heard his laugh, I have heard his doubt.

"Éponine," he said one day, "I've something to tell you." I left my spot on the piano bench and sat next to him at his table. He turned himself to face me and reached out. His hand made contact with my cheek and I shivered.

"You...you are a miracle." He said it simply. His straightforward comment bore into me, and I sobbed aloud. I held onto his hand as tears left clean streaks across my cheeks.

"Why are you sad? What plagues your happiness?" His brow furrowed and he wiped the tears off my face.

"N-No one has said a thing that kind t'me!" I gasped out in between my sobs. A life of hardness and insult and ugliness had made a brick wall inside me. Enjolras's simple and loving words made the brick wall crash instantly. I was surprised at my rush of happiness.

"Oh Éponine," he murmured. He held out his arms and I went into them gladly. He held me as I cried tears of pure joy.

"Why?" I demanded. "Why am I your miracle?!"

"You made me smile. I was in the dark. Your dancing and your laughter and your eyes made me see light. You have made me feel right." His voice was so soothing, I relaxed and my sobs slowed to simple tears.

"Why me? Of anyone, why a gamine?" I had nothing to offer him.

"Did you see a bourgeoisie make this change in me? I...I love you, Éponine. Most ardently."

Grinning, I pressed a kiss to his cheek. He tightened his hold on me and spoke.

"Promise me. Promise to one day become my wife. I can't be alone anymore, not with you in the world. I will take care of you for the rest of your life. Will you be with me?" His eyes were tender. For the first time, his marble was gone. He was just a man.

I bit my lip, unsure of what to say. "But...I will soil your good name. You are wealthy; it is obvious I'm not."

"So what?" He asked. "I love you. Please, promise to be mine."

A warm smile spread across my face. "Yes."

* * *

_**Five.**_

That night, he showed me his apartment.

"You may stay here if you wish. I will sleep on the couch and you in my bed until we are wed and can share the bed."

Grinning, I kissed him on those perfect lips. I was blushing red like a rose, but no one was there to see but us. We were alone, and I found my love. He broke our kiss and moved from my lips to my jaw, to my neck, to my collar bone. I shivered, and he brought his head back up to kiss every inch of skin on my face.

"Perfect, perfect, perfect," he murmured between each adoring peck. I sighed blissfully, and he stopped. "Come with me, I have a nightgown of my sister's you can wear. Would you like me to draw you a bath?"

I nodded quickly; though I was disappointed he stopped kissing me. But that wasn't his way. He would never go too far; I knew that much. He handed me his sister's nightgown and drew a bath. He left the room and shut the door, leaving me to my thoughts.

I undressed and slipped into the water. I grinned and scrubbed the grime off my body. I felt light and fresh. Thank God for this man who loves me; he will care for me. I didn't know exactly what good I had done to receive the gift of love, but I wasn't one to bite the hand that fed me.

I left the bath clean and soft, I dried myself, and I dressed in the nightgown. I let the water out and I exited the room.

Enjolras was sitting at a desk, reading. When he heard my light footsteps, he stood up and took me in his arms.

"Do you feel better?" He asked as I nuzzled my face in the crook of his neck.

"Oui. Now I just want to sleep." He pressed a kiss to my wet hair.

"Sleep...ok, sleep." He let me go and he led me to the bedchamber. He settled me in and kneeled at the side of the bed.

"Enjolras? When will we marry?" I yawned, and he lightly stroked my cheek.

"After the revolution. When we succeed, we will wed and our life together will be a happy one. Sleep well, ma fleur." He kissed me chastely on the lips and left me to my dreams.

* * *

_**Six.**_

The next day, we returned to the meeting with fingers entwined. Enjolras refused to let me go.

At the meeting, he dropped my hand and stood at the front, speaking and coordinating information. Courfeyrac went up to me.

"How is he in bed?" He asked with a smirk.

"Wha-"

"How much did he pay?" He interrupted with another question.

I just sighed and looked away. They assumed I was a whore because I slept in Enjolras's home. They had no clue what truly transpired in his house.

* * *

_**Seven.**_

Another week passed, and Enjolras was distressed. In the café, I stood behind him and rubbed his shoulders as he worked.

"What is troubling my Enjolras?" I murmured to him.

He stood up from the chair and moved away from me. "The other. The other!"

"Other?" My brows furrowed. "Other what?"

"Éponine, I haven't been honest with you. I was in love before you. She has ruined me. But I fell for you, only twice as hard. I love you, and you know that. But the other...she has expressed interest in me."

I felt the sting of tears in my eyes, but I forced myself to blink them away. I saw how distressed he was. I promised.

"It's ok. You will be fine. After you win the revolt, we will be happy together."

He nodded and sat down.

* * *

_**Eight.**_

"NO! NOO!" His cries of pure desperation rang through the empty house. It woke me up, and when I found the source my heart broke.

He paced around his living room, sobbing and digging his fingernails into his crossed arms, drawing blood.

"Enjolras!" I tried to get his attention, and I realized the reason for his tears. He did not want to be helped. I retreated to the bedroom and closed the door. I lay back in the bed and told myself, "Leave him to his work."

* * *

_**Nine.**_

That night, Enjolras disappeared. One week. Two weeks. Three weeks passed with no word. He never came home. One day, he walked into the café, scaring us all.

"Enjolras! Where were you?! So much has changed! General Lamarque has fallen ill, the Orléanists are rising-"

Enjolras held up a hand and stopped Combeferre's report in its tracks.

Enjolras looked like a living corpse. He was pale and had scratches on his perfect skin. He looked like he hadn't eaten a thing in the time he was gone. His once radiant eyes were dull and heavy. He hasn't been sleeping. When he spoke, his voice was rough and scratchy.

"Éponine. I need you."

I raced to him, and we left the shocked and silent café. Once we got outside, he pulled me to the alleyway.

"Enjolras, where have you been? I was so worried!" I said, kissing his cheek. He held me an arm's length away. Confusion washed over me. "Wha-"

"I cannot love you. I cannot be only yours. Patria, the republic, and you are all my mistresses. I can't be only yours. The meek and the glutton and the tempted are my angels." I took in a shuddering breath and shut my eyes. "I can't marry you. Not even after the revolt. I realize where my priorities lie. If you truly love me, you will find another."

Deep breaths, Éponine, deep breaths. Just accept it. Smile.

I obeyed myself, nodded, and took his hand. I lead him back and sat down. He started the meeting over as usual.

* * *

_**Ten.**_

"General Lamarque is dead," Gavroche said solemnly. Everyone looked to Enjolras, the only man that made no motion.

"It is the hour of fate. We shall fight tomorrow. We build the barricade forty feet from this building; it will protect us from each side. Rally the people and call them to arms. We meet at the funeral procession. Dismissed." Enjolras's voice was confident, but soft.

We nodded and left, and Enjolras followed. We walked in silence to his home. I went into the bedroom and shut the door as Enjolras started to mutter.

The next morning passed in a blur. The procession was inspiring and Enjolras held a fiery confidence that sent shivers down my spine. We fought until nightfall. When we saw how many troops were against us, all of the Amis understood. This was the last chance. They would not win.

Enjolras knew before us all. When we started to sing an old drinking song, he went inside the café and sat at one of the back tables.

I could hear muffled sobs. His hand was covering his mouth and his eyes were shut tight to stop the flow of tears.

"Oh Enjolras..." I murmured. I went to him and rubbed his back.

"My friends will die," he gasped out, his voice strained.

"You don't know. You must be prepared to bleed. I will be ready with tourniquet and prayer."

He put his arm around me and held me like he did when he loved me.

The next day, after we all woke up, Enjolras ran to me and begged, "Leave. Leave the barricades, I need this of you." Enjolras's eyes were filled with worry.

"I cannot leave you here. What if you are hurt? I promised," I replied, scared out of my mind for him. He just shook his head firmly. His eyes stared into mine, and I just couldn't deny him any longer.

I nodded. Kissing the top of my head, he took a rifle and prepared to fight. I went to his house and sat in his living room, holding a blanket that smelled like him.

* * *

_**Eleven.**_

I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. The streets were covered in pools of blood. Shattered glass, splintered wood, and shreds of cloth lay about the battle field. Bodies of the National Guard were being moved.

"Is there an Éponine Thernardier?" A tired-looking woman called out to the women that were cleaning the road of blood.

"Aye." I stepped forward. Two men laid a body at my feet. "Do you claim him?"

The gold mane that framed his head was stained with blood. His once white shirt was so red, it matched his brocade vest. The golden buttons were spotted and he was stuck in pallor. I dropped to my knees and lightly touched his cheek. It was as cold as his heart.

"He is mine," I gasped out. They nodded and left me alone. I kissed those once warm lips again, tears running down my cheeks like rivers.

"Remember the night he loved you," a woman said behind me. I turned to see a middle-aged woman with the same gold hair. "The way his eyes stared into your heart. The way his words were dripped in honey. My son would do no less."

Enjolras's mother comforted me. She put her hand on my shoulder and gazed upon her son. She used to feed him and clothe him and kiss him when he cried.

"The night he loved me," I moaned. "The night he loved me, his eyes, his words!" She nodded.

* * *

_**Twelve.**_

"I was made for this," I cried at last. "I was made for him to break my heart. My love, my life. I was made for this."

The two male helpers picked him up again and brought him into a coffin they constructed. They sealed it with him inside.

To the cemetery we went in silence. I gasped out a final, "Good bye, my love, my prophet." before they could bury him. They marked his grave and left me.

The words, his eyes, and the night he loved me. The song he played. They danced in my head like a gypsy.


End file.
